


Just a Single Moment

by ceterisparibus



Series: Prompts! [6]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Christmas Decorations, Christmas!, F/M, Fluff, Karedevil Squad, but surprise Karen's the whumpee for once, slight whump, trust me I'm just as shocked as you are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:20:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21949471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceterisparibus/pseuds/ceterisparibus
Summary: Karen sprains her ankle and asks Matt to help decorate. They both have existential thoughts and Feels, and address precisely none of them.Prompt: "Cozy"
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Karen Page
Series: Prompts! [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1334596
Comments: 22
Kudos: 50
Collections: 12 Days of Karedevil





	Just a Single Moment

**Author's Note:**

> I realize I'm posting this on Christmas Eve but shhhh just pretend it's early December still!

Karen pulled the thick green-and-red plaid blanket up to her chin, although it did little to stave off the chill from the half-melted ice pack slopped over her sprained ankle. Stupid frozen streets, stupid heels. (Not stupid: she looked amazing in them.) It was just so humiliating to sprain your ankle walking down the street when your vigilante boyfriend regularly backflipped off rooftops with no problem. To be fair, he also regularly crashed through her bedroom window bleeding copiously, but that was still because he was engaged in heroics. He certainly wasn’t falling victim to a _street_.

And now there was a fire in the fireplace, yet Karen’s teeth still chattered.

She was debating whether the ice pack was really worth the cold when she heard the aforementioned bedroom window open from behind her. New cold slipped into the room; it hadn't stopped snowing outside. She probably shouldn’t be so lackadaisical about the window, because technically it _could_ be anyone getting into her apartment. But even though the black-clad silhouette that slipped into her living room struck fear in the hearts of the most savage criminals of Hell’s Kitchen, tension she hadn’t realized she’d been holding seeped from her bones at the sight of him.

“Hey,” she said quietly.

He pulled off his mask. “Hey. Your ice pack is melted.”

“Half-melted,” she corrected.

He came to sit on the edge of the couch beside her, stroking his thumb over her cheek. She arched closer to him, trying to absorb more of his body heat. “You’re freezing,” he said.

“You could help with that,” she pointed out.

He raised an eyebrow. “You called me here to be a space heater?”

“Actually, no.” She pushed herself into a more upright position and pointed across the room; his head turned accordingly, sightless eyes flitting around the box of Christmas decorations by her closet. “I called you here to decorate.”

He raised both eyebrows now. “What, me?”

“Yes, you. I’m not supposed to walk on this, remember?”

“Yeah, I’d just think…” He frowned. “You sure I’m the best candidate for the job?”

“Mm-hmm,” she said. “Because if I’d asked Foggy, I couldn’t do this.” She reached up, hooking her fingers in the collar of his shirt and pulling his mouth down to meet hers.

He kissed her deeply, with just a hint of leftover heat from whatever he’d faced on the streets tonight. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark. “Compelling argument.”

“I thought so,” she said smugly, snuggling back down under the blanket. “But no more kisses until everything in that box is somewhere else.”

“Somewhere else?” he echoed, with a look in his eyes that told her he was about to simply dump the contents on the floor and return to claim his prize.

“Somewhere _festive_ ,” she corrected quickly, “to be determined by me.”

“Strict terms, Miss Page,” he murmured, leaning in to brush his lips over her forehead. Before she could object, he pulled back and darted across the room to retrieve the box.

Settling back on the couch, she watched him carefully pull off his gloves before removing various wreaths, Christmas figurines, ornaments, and other celebratory items, setting each on the floor and running his fingers over them to discern what they were. Then he glanced up, head tilted inquiringly.

“Ornaments go on the Christmas tree, for starters” she said helpfully, smirking, pointing to the corner of the room where a tiny, adorable well-worn synthetic Christmas tree sat.

He shot her an indignant look, but he gathered up the ornaments and went to place them on the tree. She intentionally kept from giving too much instruction, preferring to see what he came up with. He did a good job spacing out the differently-shaped ornaments, but he left a few clusters of too many reds or too many whites in one place. Still, she found it charming.

“Good?” he asked at last, stepping back.

“Perfect,” she said emphatically.

His mouth twitched. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s quite true.”

“Perfect for me,” she said softly.

He stood up. “If that’s a metaphor, I’ll take it,” he said lightly, crossing the room to settle by the remaining decorations. “Where do these go?”

It was a collection of snowflakes that sparkled slightly in the right light. She directed him to hang them on the wall across from the windows so the sunlight would catch on their edges and fractals. As with the ornaments, he spaced them out flawlessly so they spanned the wall.

“And this?” he asked, holding up a battered Santa doll. It had belonged to Karen’s mom.

Karen felt suddenly heavy at the thought of another Christmas without her mom—and another Christmas without any of her family, really. “On the coffee table. Close to me.”

Matt tilted his head, clearly picking up on her mood. He didn’t ask any questions, but he did set his hand on her shoulder, squeezing briefly, before returning to the other decorations. “What about this?”

A bright green stocking with her name stitched over the front. She smiled. “Over the fireplace, dummy. But don’t forget the other one.”

His forehead creased. He pawed through the pile until he withdrew a second stocking—this one blood-red, not that he’d know. He ran his hand across the surface and blinked when he felt his own name. He blinked again and looked up.

“Over the fireplace,” she repeated quietly.

His smile was small, almost shy yet somehow simultaneously delighted. Standing, he crossed the room to the fireplace, and she was struck by the image of him: backlit by a warm and flickering light, hanging up Christmas stockings like this was something they did year after year. Longing rose up in her chest. It was a small thing to wish for, but she suddenly desperately wanted to fall into routine alongside him. Build traditions. Create their own little world together, a shelter from the darkness they both tried so hard to push back.

But it seemed presumptuous to imagine any future at all with him, let alone such a stable one. They were both wild and chaotic no matter how hard they tried to tame themselves. Either they found danger or it found them.

Then again, maybe that was just it? Maybe it meant they’d fight that much harder for whatever scraps of calm comfort they could find?

His head cocked like he was glancing over his shoulder. “What’re you thinking about?”

She wiggled her foot under the ice pack, now mostly just a bag of cold water, shifted over her sprain. “Just you. All good things, don’t worry.”

He nodded absently and touched his stocking again, standing silent and motionless. Then he gave his head a slight shake, like he’d been caught drifting into daydreams instead of focusing on the task at hand. And there was still a pile of decorations left.

“Hey, Matt?” she began tentatively.

“Yeah?”

“Can you come here?”

He didn’t hesitate. He drew close and sat on the edge of the couch, his fingers automatically finding the ends of her hair to play with.

She tried to figure out how to put into words what she was wishing for. Failed. Well, no. She was good with words and she knew exactly what she wanted to say. She just…wasn’t quite brave enough. She cleared her throat. “So, um, about that space heater thing…”

“Yeah,” he whispered. She scooted back and moved the blanket aside, and he quickly tugged off his boots and tucked himself onto the couch beside her, their bodies pressed tightly together. His heat immediately seeped into her skin. He managed to get the blanket back over both of them, trapping them together.

She tucked her nose against the back of his neck and focused on breathing in his scent, and didn’t dare speak lest the moment should break.

Finally, he stirred slightly. “The rest of your decorations…”

“They can wait,” she murmured. Maybe the future would always be uncertain. Maybe, for them, that was just life.

But this moment, right here and right now? This moment was _theirs_.


End file.
